Those of you who are reading me for quite some time know that I am a big fan of Michael Crichton. That man was brilliant with his pen and to this day whenever I think that he is dead, I feel sorrow, deep deep sadness. I think all children of the 90s owe him their childhood fascination of dinosaurs and the dreams that anything could be possible. I have read a lot of his books (not all yet) over the years and I was mildly surprised when this turned out to be murder mystery woven into corporate creepiness combined with cultural nuances. It is well executed, well paced and well balanced. Except, I wasn’t really hanging onto every page reminding myself to breath, because he has been so good in the past, I have forgotten to perform a basic autonomous function like breathing.

The air is like a modern Clavell’s Taipan, except the setting is Los Angeles and there is a beautiful escort who is entwined in some dangerous habits along with secret liaisons who gets murdered in a conference room at the opening of a landmark Japanese building. There is this Sherlock Holmes and Watson thing going on with the two main protagonists, one of whom is named John Connor, so when I imagine him, I see either Arnold Schwarzenegger or Christian Bale, neither of whom fit the description and mess around with my visualisation of the story. Anyhow, the other dude has recently moved to the foreign liaison department and gets called and tags along Connor who is more attuned to all things Japanese. Tensions start to rise within the police department and the attaches and trivialities unravel into winding ways and if you think you know who did it, well, let me tell you, you didn’t.

It is a really good read. I enjoyed learning about Japanese culture and some history and I know I am gushing but Crichton’s voice is too strong to ignore.